The salt spray was beginning to taste like missed opportunities. Arthur stood on the bridge of the Salty Dog , a 52-foot trawler that currently had the grace of a drunken toddler in a bounce house. Beside him, Captain Miller gripped the wheel, his knuckles white as the foam crashing over the bow.
Miller let out a rare, jagged laugh. "Smartest thing you’ve done all trip. By the time we head back, you'll be able to set a glass of wine on the dashboard and not lose a drop." buy wesmar stabilizers
"Done," Arthur yelled. "I sent the inquiry. If we survive to port, they’re going in." The salt spray was beginning to taste like
Arthur pulled out his phone, the screen slick with mist. He typed three words that felt like a ransom payment for his sanity: . Miller let out a rare, jagged laugh
"I told you, Artie," Miller shouted over the groan of the hull. "You want to cross the Gulf in a boat this narrow, you don't just hope for flat water. You prepare for the roll."